


Party on our own

by dancinguniverse



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Code Gay, M/M, getting drunk in hotel rooms, post Season 1 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-22 14:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15584487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinguniverse/pseuds/dancinguniverse
Summary: "You write sexy code, and you have sexy tattoos, and you could probably sleep with a thousand women down there, and I can't sleep with any of them.""You want to stop talking now," Gilfoyle says, all the languid ease from earlier evaporated. "Also I'm getting more sure about the gay thing, but this is an unsportsmanlike way of finding out."Dinesh and Gilfoyle, after the season 1 finale.





	1. Chapter 1

There's a party after the Tech Crunch finals, because of course there is. As the victors, Pied Piper scores unlimited drinks, and it's like the toga party all over again, except the girls aren't actors -- at least, Dinesh is pretty sure this time. Most of the attention is on Richard of course, but there's still a surprising amount left over for the rest of them. At first it's incredible. Dinesh turns down three drink offers, waving his wristband and driving away interested parties, until Gilfoyle finally overhears him and shoots him an exasperated look that cuts through the fog of hormones and alcohol and victory. 

"Actually, I drink for free tonight," he course corrects to the brunette smiling at him this time, because he can learn. "What can I get you?"

That gets him farther, and this time he spends a whole ten minutes talking to a woman named Simone about compression algorithms before he's interrupted again, and then again. But it's all positive, a whirl of bright faces and so many smiles directed his way that it starts to feel like something out of a horror movie, Stepford style. 

He escapes to the bar and is picking up his drink when a hand grabs his shirt, low by his ribs. He jumps, but it's only Gilfoyle, and at the insistent tilt to his head, the pull on his shirt, he steps to the side, shielded somewhat between a wall and a potted plant. He's actually grateful for the break. 

"This is insane," he hisses, though it's still a bit of a shout, given the ambient noise. "I've gotten four offers for sexual favors, five for funding opportunities, and two asking me to commit corporate espionage. I think Simone," he jerks his head, and Gilfoyle follows his gaze, cocking his head in a measuring look, "might be open to all three." 

Gilfoyle looks a little wild around the eyes himself. "Your stats are higher than mine. But to be fair, you do look like an easier mark." 

"Even Jared is getting attention!" They both look over. Jared is, indeed, talking to a pretty woman with long dark hair, and he looks relaxed for the first time since he got back from the island. 

Dinesh, on the other hand, can barely exchange two sentences with anyone before he's getting mobbed again, and he's being sold to more than he's selling, which is a first for him. "Holy shit," he breathes, peering around Gilfoyle's shoulder at the knot of people he'd escaped. "This is a lot." 

"You want to get out of here?" 

Dinesh looks over, mouth dropping open. "Are you serious? You want to leave? This is the most popular I've been in my entire life!" 

Gilfoyle just stares back from behind his glasses, hand clenched a little too tightly around his beer bottle. "I don't like crowds." 

"So?" 

Gilfoyle shrugs, a twitchy movement more befitting Richard than himself. "Okay," he says. "See you back at the hotel."

"Not if I'm lucky," Dinesh taunts, and Gilfoyle simply raises his bottle in acknowledgement. He turns and disappears into the crowd. 

 

An hour later, Dinesh shoves open the door to their suite and slams it shut behind him. Gilfoyle is sprawled out on the couch, still in his Pied Piper tshirt, a fresh beer in hand. He lifts his head to eye Dinesh curiously, pausing something on the TV. Their room smells like pot. 

Dinesh wrinkles his nose. "They're going to charge us for that." 

"What, smoking?" Gilfoyle lays his head back down on the cushion. "That's the conference's problem. I take it your luck ran out?" he jibes, looking unconcerned. Dinesh peers at the TV, and it's frozen on a frame of something with a giant snake. 

"Don't," Dinesh begs, and sinks down next to him on the couch. "What is this?"

"Boa vs Python." Gilfoyle hits play, and there's shrieking on screen as an enormous, terribly CGI'd snake slithers through the halls of some building with lots of crushed glass. 

Dinesh shoves Gilfoyle's legs over to give himself more room, and Gilfoyle kicks his feet over Dinesh's legs in response, without looking away from the screen. 

"Ugh, no, keep your gross feet to yourself," he snaps. 

Gilfoyle, if anything, sinks deeper into the cushions. "I was here first. I'm sure Simone's feet are far more appealing though. Where's her room?" 

Dinesh gives up, crossing his arms over Gilfoyle's feet so he doesn't have to look at them. "1402," he says, and tosses a key card onto Gilfoyle's chest. Gilfoyle grabs at it before it can slide to the ground, actually looking away from his movie. 

He narrows his eyes. "This is Simone's key," he challenges. "To her room."

"Yes." 

"That she gave to you freely and of her own volition?" 

" _Yes_."  

"What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"It was weird!" Dinesh explodes, fingers pushing at his temples. "She was talking to me, and then Abby was talking to me, and Michael was talking to me, and they were all so impressed." 

"This sounds like your literal wet dream," Gilfoyle points out. He's still watching Dinesh, while his movie plays on. 

"I didn't say a single word up on that stage today. I didn't write a single line of the code Richard presented. He deleted months --  _months_ \-- of our work, and people were still tripping over themselves to shake my hand. They weren't impressed with me. They were impressed with Richard, and the shit ton of money he's worth now." 

There's a pause, and then Gilfoyle lowers his beer. "Yeah," he says after a minute. "I noticed that too." 

Dinesh looks over. "You did?"

"Yeah. It was fucked up." 

"Then why were you --? Never mind," he sighs. 

"Giving you crap?" Gilfoyle smirks. "Habit, mostly, by this point." 

"Ugh. I am cursed. That's the only answer. Women will only find me attractive when one of us is under false pretenses." 

Gilfoyle lets him stew for a beat. "Yep," he agrees. "That definitely seems like the most likely answer." 

"It's not like you're doing any better here." 

"I'm good," Gilfoyle says, turning back to the tv screen. Dinesh watches him. His hair is rumpled where he's mashed it into the pillow, and his shirt is riding up a little, exposing a narrow line of his stomach, a line of dark hair running perpendicular. He has a beer in hand, his body loose and languid on the couch, though at least some of that must be due to the weed, and not just his natural fuck-all attitude. As if to drive the point home, he wiggles his feet on Dinesh's thighs. 

Dinesh starts to object, and then freezes. Before Gilfoyle can argue, he shoves his legs off the couch, harder than he actually means to, but good riddance anyway. Gilfoyle's knee bangs the coffee table, and he yelps. "Fuck, man. Fine." 

He sits up this time, tugging his shirt down, and Dinesh relaxes a bit. Gilfoyle stretches back out again after a minute, but facing forward this time, feet up on the coffee table, an arm's length between his head on the back of the couch and Dinesh's shoulder. 

"Do you think Jared's getting laid?" Dinesh asks mournfully. "Because it's just pathetic if he can find someone and we can't." 

"Speak for yourself," Gilfoyle answers, gaze fixed back on the tv. 

"How is it not weird for him? He was even less helpful than we were." 

Gilfoyle rolls his eyes. "Jared is probably used to the feeling. Also you're overlooking the possibility that he actually just enjoys talking to women, full stop." 

"I like talking to women," Dinesh objects, and Gilfoyle actually laughs. 

"Lie. You like the idea of talking to women. The act absolutely terrifies you."

"I've seen you with exactly one woman, and you met her in church," Dinesh accuses, since denial would be a waste of time. 

Gilfoyle's smile is tiny, but Dinesh preens. He knows the difference between Gilfoyle finding him intentionally funny or just generally amusing. 

"Do you have any more beer?" Dinesh asks. 

"You won't like it," Gilfoyle warns. 

Dinesh grunts, a dissatisfied sound, but he trusts the truth of it. Gilfoyle has a tendency toward Russian imperials that taste like syrup to Dinesh. 

"There's a bottle of vodka by the window," Gilfoyle adds a moment later, and Dinesh cranes his head to look. 

"Do we have any mixers?"

"Stop being a pussy." 

"It's gross." 

"Then don't drink it." 

Dinesh stares at the tv screen for another few minutes, then grunts and gets up off the couch. 

 

 

An hour later, Gilfoyle has another movie on, this one with volcanoes, and Dinesh is slumped sideways on the couch, talking earnestly at him. "I just want someone who will appreciate me," he says. "I don't even care if she's hot, honestly. I would probably date an ugly girl if she actually liked me. But then I start talking to girls, and I always go for the hot ones. Maybe I should start looking for ugly girls." 

"You should definitely tell them that," Gilfoyle observes, still watching the tv screen. His glasses are like mirrors, reflecting the light, and Dinesh can't read his eyes anymore. "I foresee it going very badly for you." 

"Do you really think I'm gay?"

This finally pulls Gilfoyle's gaze from the tv screen to the bottle sitting in Dinesh's lap, the level lapping well below the top of the label. "Shit, man. Was that bottle full when you started?"

"Yeah," Dinesh answers, unconcerned. "Am I?"

Gilfoye's mouth twitches. "Maybe," he says after a moment. "But what the hell do I know?" He reaches out and takes the bottle, batting away Dinesh's hands as he belatedly grabs for it. He sits up, looking around for the cap, and finally gives up and places it somewhere out of sight. He comes back with a glass of water from the bathroom. "You'll thank me later." 

"Nooo," Dinesh protests, a childish whine. "No, we're partying. I can't party with water." 

"You are not partying. You are getting introspective and maudlin, and I don't want to listen to it." 

"No one wants to listen to me," Dinesh moans, and Gilfoyle's eyes widen a bit. "You're the closest thing I have to a friend, and you don't even want to party with me." At that, Gilfoyle freezes entirely.  "You write sexy code, and you have sexy tattoos, and you could probably sleep with a thousand women down there, and I can't sleep with any of them." 

"You want to stop talking now," he says, all the languid ease from earlier evaporated. "Also I'm getting more sure about the gay thing, but this is an unsportsmanlike way of finding out." 

"I want to sleep with girls," Dinesh insists. "I really, really want to. But none of them want to sleep with me." 

"You were literally in bed with a woman last night. You had a woman's keycard in your hand tonight. The problem is not the women, Dinesh." 

"I like when you say my name." Dinesh has his chin propped on the back of the couch, watching Gilfoyle where he sits at the other end, and he looks glassy and drunk, his voice overly sincere. 

The movie is still playing, but Gilfoyle has long since lost track of it. He wants to escape, into his room or into the hall or preferably steal the car and drive all the way home, but he would feel guilty if Dinesh died of alcohol poisoning or wandered out onto the highway. Dinesh reaches out his arm and traces one finger over the cross on Gilfoyle's bicep, staring at the ink in fascination. "Fuck," Gilfoyle says eloquently. 

The door handle rattles, and Jared peers in, pushing the door open wider when he sees them. "Oh, you're still awake!" he says cheerfully. 

"Thank Satan," Gilfoyle says, rising from the couch instantly. "Dinesh is trashed. I'm going to bed. Don't let him choke on his own vomit." Jared looks at Dinesh in surprise, who stares after Gilfoyle, looking bereft. Gilfoyle goes into the bedroom and slams the door. A second later, the lock clicks. 


	2. Chapter 2

 

They check out of the hotel late, because none of them escaped the night completely unscathed. Gilfoyle takes the middle seat in the van, leaving Dinesh and Jared in the far back, the less to deal with any of the fallout. 

As predicted, Richard has company in puking out the window, and by the time they get back to the house, none of them are in particularly good moods, despite the novelty check riding in the backseat. 

Dinesh disappears into his room immediately, which at least solves Gilfoyle's immediate problem. Richard is likewise retreating back to his room, and Erlich, wandering around the yard, looks like maybe whatever he took last night isn't totally out of his system. 

Gilfoyle takes advantage of the relative quiet and sprawls out on the couch with a book. 

He's a few chapters in when Dinesh comes staggering out of his room toward the kitchen and stands over the sink, filling a glass of water. Gilfoyle doesn't lower his book and doesn't mean to stop reading, but he realizes he's not moving any farther down the page, either. He keeps his eyes fixed on the words in front of him anyway as Dinesh walks gingerly to the other couch and sinks down next him. His hair is mussed, and he hasn't shaved yet today, and his eyes look hooded and pained.

"I think I was embarrassing last night," he says after a minute. 

Gilfoyle doesn't look up. "So a normal night, then." 

"Ha." He fingers the edge of a cushion. "Seriously. Did I say anything?" 

Now Gilfoyle does lower his book, placing a finger in between the pages to hold his place. "Like what?" It might be a dare. It might be an offer to keep a secret not meant to be told. Even Gilfoyle isn't sure which. Either way, it puts off a conversation he's not ready to have quite yet. 

Dinesh stares at him, narrow-eyed, though Gilfoyle doesn't know how much is suspicion and how much is hungover aversion to the afternoon light streaming in through the windows. 

"Nothing," he finally sighs, and slumps back into the cushions. 

Gilfoyle goes back to actually reading his book. The next time he looks over, Dinesh is asleep, open-mouthed, his hair sticking up where he's nestled himself into the crease between the armrest and the back of the sofa. It's not in any way cute. Gilfoyle lets him be. It's a good book. 

* * *

There are problems that need brute-forcing, and there are problems that are more or less trivial. And then there are the problems that Gilfoyle actually likes solving. He smokes and he drinks because he likes it, but also because he loves the feeling of flying just a little bit, loosening up his brain and churning over problems until the answer swims up from the depths, flies off his fingers in a burst of code. Dinesh can be a mix of all three, but that in itself is novel in a house where no one else ever rises above trivially challenging, if Gilfoyle wants to get a rise out of them. And none of them yield the same sweet satisfaction as Dinesh, freaked out or furious or delighted, depending on the flavor of the day and Gilfoyle's mood in provoking him. 

So Gilfoyle takes a bottle of beer to his room with him to puzzle over the latest problem of Dinesh. 

Gilfoyle isn't the biggest proponent of sleeping with his coworkers, but fuck it. It's not like his reasoning goes any deeper than not shitting where you eat. Dinesh is hot, and smart enough, and at some point they've crossed a line anyway. Gilfoyle can't pretend Dinesh is just someone he happens to share space with. He let them become a set, and it would be more effort than he wants to expend to reverse that pairing, in their minds or anyone else's. 

But Gilfoyle knew all this a while ago. And he'd done his own testing of the waters. Whenever he leans in too close, Dinesh tenses up. When he smacks his arm or steals french fries or pokes at his latest stupid shirt, Dinesh shies away. And Gilfoyle figured, even if he's not quite twisted enough to think of that as flirting, that it still answered a question. Dinesh didn't like being touched, at least by Gilfoyle. 

Or maybe Gilfoyle is wrong. It's rare, but it happens, and more often with people than with technology, he can admit. Maybe he'd missed something.  

And there is such a thing as liquid courage. Dinesh actually has many redeeming qualities, but honesty, mostly with himself, isn't one of them. Maybe he needs the extra shove to bring certain things to light. 

Gilfoyle is good at shoving Dinesh around. 

He doesn't dare put it on paper, but he finds himself forming a mental list, staring at the ceiling above his bed, headphones in. 

Strengths

  * Dinesh presumably more likeable when he's getting laid regularly
  * People in relationships lead healthier lives
  * Ends current uncertain status 



Weaknesses

  * More accountability to another person
  * Dinesh will not be able to deal with an open relationship
  * Less opportunity for bitching if Dinesh ends up subject of said bitching



Opportunities

  * Regular sex
  * More reliable partner for hobbies/excursions/mockery of others
  * Chances to provoke Dinesh become nearly endless



Threats

  * The sex is bad
  * Work relationships damaged
  * Fatal termination of current relationship if new one doesn't work out



  
The last one is a heavier consideration than Gilfoyle had really counted up until now. The opportunities though, are more appealing than he'd formerly appreciated. Not thinking about his co-workers that way is a practical, not moral, standard. But it means he'd long ago carefully filed everyone in the house as off-limits. Not worth wasting time on even as potentials, and a few late-night jerk sessions don't count.   

But it's a guideline more than a rule, and Gilfoyle doesn't have rules he can't break with good enough reason. 

* * *

He hasn't really decided by the next day. The threats are such that he would really rather have more intel on what Dinesh's response would be to a proposition, and GIlfoyle still doesn't know. 

He's nominally working on Pied Piper stuff, but no one is ever productive all day, and besides, he's chasing down a research rabbit hole that started on stack overflow but has migrated substantially since then. And the solution is interesting, even if it doesn't end up being useful for Pied Piper at the moment, so Gilfoyle writes up a quick example, short and elegant and just  _cool_. 

And then he sends it to Dinesh. 

Not to the group slack, not anywhere on a side branch of their project git. Just sends it straight to Dinesh. 

And then he waits. 

Dinesh is actually working, judging by the quick but irregular pace of his typing and the single focused eye Gilfoyle can make out from his seat when he turns around to check. 

Gilfoyle turns back to his work station, keeping an ear out. After a few minutes, he hears Dinesh's typing speed flag, and then stop. There's silence for a few minutes, and Gilfoyle chances a look over his shoulder. Dinesh has the code pulled up, and Gilfoyle spins his chair all the way around, watching. 

Dinesh jerks his eyes away from the screen, meeting Gilfoyle's waiting gaze, and then snaps back to the screen, closing the window hurriedly. 

"No feedback?" Gilfoyle inquires. 

Dinesh is typing again, but Gilfoyle can tell by the too-even pace that he's just entering nonsense now. 

"Dinesh." 

"Not funny, Gilfoyle." 

"It wasn't meant to be." 

Dinesh locks his computer with a quick keyboard stroke and stands. "I'm getting lunch," he announces. 

"It's ten a.m.," Gilfoyle points out, and Dinesh flips him off before banging through the front door to the outside. His phone is still sitting next to his keyboard, but even though Gilfoyle watches the door curiously, he either doesn't notice he's forgotten it, or is too pissed off to come back in and admit it.  

Well. It was a reaction, anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please send me extra entries for Gilfoyle's SWOT matrix. I would be delighted to hear other people's ideas. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dinesh doesn't come back until late in the afternoon. When he does, he goes directly to his room, closing the door behind him. Gilfoyle follows him down the hall and opens his door without knocking, stepping in and closing it behind him while Dinesh spins and stares at him, eyes wide in surprise.  

"Ever heard of knocking?" he snaps. "What the hell?" 

"We need to talk." Gilfoyle leans back against the closed door, arms crossed. 

"I'm busy," Dinesh lies, looking around his room for some sort of distraction. There isn't any. His room is too neat. He leans against his desk, crossing his arms in response. Gilfoyle doesn't miss that it's also nearly the farthest Dinesh could be from him without hiding in his own closet. 

"If you can't look at my code without getting a hard-on, it's going to make working with you difficult." 

Dinesh recoils, looking physically pained. "Gilfoyle, I can't express in words how much I don't want to talk about this with you." 

"Do you want to talk about it with someone else?"

"There's nothing to talk about!" 

"I disagree." He shifts, letting his arms drop. "Look, a peace offering: ten minutes, no bullshit." 

"Strip away the bullshit, and what exactly is left?" Dinesh asks, which, fair. It is their standard operating procedure. But Gilfoyle decides it's time for cards on the table.  

"My apparently porn-star like code, for one. Also my tattoos. And you like the way I say your name." 

"I don't." 

"Dinesh." He only sort of means to do it. 

"Fuck you." He scrubs at his face. "I knew I said something the other night. Look, I was really drunk. None of that is even true."

"I don't believe you."

"Can you please pretend I just got drunk and passed out and didn't say anything?" 

"No. You've got a thing for me. And I'm not completely opposed to the idea."

"You're --" Dinesh meets his eyes for the first time since Gilfoyle came into the room. His eyebrows draw together skeptically, and Gilfoyle acknowledges that yeah, maybe he's got a bit of a thing too. "Wow. Does 'not completely opposed' usually get you very far? Forgive me if I don't fall at your feet over that line." 

"If you're looking for declarations of undying love, you're gonna have to at least buy me dinner first." 

Dinesh looks flustered. "Are we really talking about this? I'm still waiting for the hidden cameras." 

Gilfoyle pushes himself off the wall, and strides the two steps over to where Dinesh is still hovering, looking uneasy in the only space of his own in the whole house. He reaches out, and Dinesh flinches a little when Gilfoyle's hand touches the side of his neck, his eyes wide and startled. 

But he doesn't pull away. 

Gilfoyle leans in and presses their lips together, and when he opens his eyes to see the response, Dinesh's eyes are squeezed fiercely shut. But he's kissing Gilfoyle back. 

This close, Gilfoyle can smell the Old Spice deodorant Dinesh uses, the faint trace of sweat that clings to him anyway, thanks to his long walk. His stupid rugby shirt is at least soft where Gilfoyle touches him, and his body underneath the shirt is harder than Gilfoyle was expecting, which is a surprise that makes his fingers curl tighter in the fabric, scratching gently at the ribs underneath. 

He touches his tongue to Dinesh's lower lip, and Dinesh's mouth opens under his, slow and hesitant. He's not bad at this though, which eases at least one of Gilfoyle's concerns from his mental SWOT board. Dinesh raises a hand to touch Gilfoyle's hair, and it's a softer touch than Gilfoyle really likes, but the almost reverent way he does it makes something warm curl up pleasantly in Gilfoyle's stomach. Gilfoyle pulls back, letting his hand fall away, and Dinesh's eyes open instantly, wary. 

"No cameras," Gilfoyle promises. "Think about it." 

And, because he means it, he walks away. Because he's an asshole, he leaves the door open behind him, and hopes someone else wanders by soon to appreciate Dinesh's thunderstruck face. 

* * *

 

 

Dinesh finds Gilfoyle out by the pool an hour later. He's been smoking, because it's a nice way to relax in the evening, and because maybe he had some things on his mind. He looks up as Dinesh lowers himself to the adjacent chair. 

"So what am I supposed to be thinking about?" Dinesh asks, after they've stared at the pool together for a few minutes. "Is this a hate sex thing? A co-workers-with-benefits thing? Would you tell Tara about us? Would the rest of the house know?"

"You're asking a lot of questions about a thing that hasn't happened yet. It's not like we signed a contract about our current relationship before we started giving each other shit." This is true, and also Gilfoyle has no idea and no interest in defining his relationships, both generally and specifically with Dinesh. 

"I don't want to leave Pied Piper if this gets all fucked up," Dinesh says softly. "Not when we just got it off the ground." 

"So don't leave," Gilfoyle tells him, something tight in his chest. "It's not like you haven't been humiliated at work before now. Why would this be any different?"

"Maybe you'd be the one humiliated," Dinesh points out immediately. 

"I'm not leaving," Gilfoyle says, though he has thought about it. Erlich is disgusting, and Richard is a trainwreck. Luckily, Gilfoyle thrives on chaos, so it works out pretty well for him, despite the occasional or constant threat to his professional life. If it does all go ass-up, he guesses he can always move east into the Valley and start growing pot. 

"Why are you doing this?" Dinesh demands. "You don't even like me." 

"I spend almost all my free time with you," Gilfoyle says, annoyed at having to point it out. "And I'm not a masochist." 

"Name one thing you actually like about me," Dinesh challenges. 

Gilfoyle almost walks away. He doesn't like being tested. But Dinesh looks less demanding than disbelieving, and Gilfoyle knows this is at least partly his fault. You spend long enough flinging shit, and it's not surprising to be taken at face value. 

"I like your eyebrows," he admits, because it's true, and because it makes Dinesh do exactly the thing he likes, drawing them together and up in surprise. 

"Okay," Dinesh says, drawing it out. Then he shakes his head. "Wait. I gave you three things. You owe me two more." 

"You should have thought about that before you got drunk and confessional." 

"Two more," Dinesh insists. 

"I like your taste in videogames," he says, because that much should be obvious, or they wouldn't play together as much as they do. He's not giving anything away there. 

"One more," Dinesh says, looking smugger than he deserves. 

"I like that I'm better than you at writing code," Gilfoyle snaps, irritated. 

"That doesn't count." 

"It's true," Gilfoyle says, and it comes out mean, but at least it's familiar. "Look, I'm offering a favor here. I don't need to debase myself for your enjoyment." 

Dinesh makes a noise of disgust. "I don't need a favor from you, of all people." 

"Suit yourself." 

"Fine." 

Dinesh flings the sliding door closed behind him hard enough to bounce open again, and Gilfoyle watches with mean satisfaction as he has to turn around and close it gently enough to catch. Dinesh refuses to look up, and then he turns and storms off into the house. Gilfoyle's satisfaction is fleeting.

That was counterproductive. 


	4. Chapter 4

Dinesh doesn't come unhinged all at once. The first day after their kiss, he's just oddly focused. He doesn't take a break all morning, he doesn't respond to any of the links Gilfoyle sends him over Slack, and he ignores Gilfoyle's offer to walk over to Philz. 

Finally, Gilfoyle drags his chair over to Dinesh's station, perching on it backwards so that his knee jogs Dinesh's thigh. He looks over Dinesh's screen, his chin just behind Dinesh's shoulder. "You're not gonna catch up to me just because you try really hard for a day or two." Dinesh doesn't answer. "You've got a typo on line 83," he adds. He's close enough to notice the hair on Dinesh's neck that's starting to grow past his usual neat trim, little lines arcing across his skin. Dinesh arrows up, corrects his mistake, and then keeps working, not even sparing Gilfoyle a glare. "Brilliant recovery," Gilfoyle commentates, starting to feel annoyed. "Look, take a break before you give yourself an aneurysm." He continues typing, a dogged expression on his face. "Dinesh." 

"Fuck off, Gilfoyle," Dinesh snaps. "I'm working."

Gilfoyle hovers for another minute, mostly to see what Dinesh will do, but he's committed. Gilfoyle stands and strides into the kitchen. 

It's a temporary retreat, is all. Dinesh will snap out of it, and they'll fix whatever is happening between them, one way or another, and Gilfoyle's life would go back to normal or maybe even take a step forward. Or it'll all go to hell. It really doesn't make a difference to him. 

He peers through the kitchen divider, frowning at the dark look on Dinesh's face as he works away on his laptop. No difference at all. 

 

The problem is that there's something especially enticing about Dinesh unplugged, and Gilfoyle knows it's a weakness of his. He gets more than slight satisfaction out of driving Dinesh off-kilter. Dinesh at his most stripped-down and base self isn't so far from Gilfoyle, and he derives pleasure out of grinding away the saccharine overcoat Dinesh layers on top. Underneath his bravado, Dinesh is less confident than he appears, but underneath that is a grim determination that Gilfoyle respects more than almost anything else about him. 

The next few days are full of Dinesh burying himself in his work and getting a shocking amount accomplished. He's ripping through stories at a rate that has Jared looking first pleased, and then concerned, Richard impressed and then uneasy. Dinesh brushes aside Jared's wheedling efforts to take a break for food or tea or maybe a nap when his eyes start to look bloodshot. Gilfoyle watches the ordeal in the dull reflection of his monitor. 

He's glad most of the attention is on Dinesh's demented Energizer-Bunny approach to his work, because he spends most of those days watching Dinesh's sticky notes pile up under the Complete column and jerking off in his room over a single fucking kiss. 

(It's not about a single kiss, and he knows it. It's about a year of getting used to ugly shirts and casual insults from the one person who both fights back most often and gives in most deliciously, and suddenly going cold turkey off all of that. And it's about that growing pile of sticky notes, and fuck his life, maybe he's not the only one who's code gay, but Dinesh is a goddamn powerhouse right now, and it's doing something to him.)

Gilfoyle's own work is suffering, but Dinesh is throwing off everyone's curves, so he doesn't think the others have noticed yet. Not that Gilfoyle is exceptionally concerned with his work product just now, but it's aggravating when he can't focus thanks to the relentless typing happening behind him. He tries drinking more, and then less, but neither help. His sudden and complete invisibility is grating, when he used to only glance over his shoulder to find an eyebrow quirked back at him in ready agreement about the latest Pied Piper bullshit. 

Normally he'd take a vast satisfaction in kicking back and relaxing while Dinesh worked long hours, but it's not working. Dinesh doesn't care. He doesn't even seem to notice when Gilfoyle enters or leaves the room, let alone picks up an XBox controller and settles in on the couch. 

He's rooting for an apple in the fridge on Day Four when Jared comes in behind him, crowding close to ask in a hushed tone, "Do you know what's going on with Dinesh lately?" 

"No," Gilfoyle lies. He realizes he hasn't gone grocery shopping since before Tech Crunch. He doesn't want to steal Erlich's stupid yogurt. He doesn't know who the jar of pickles belongs to, but he pulls one out and crunches into it. 

"Do you think you could try talking to him anyway? You two are usually so close. In your own way, of course." 

He eyes Jared, because he doesn't appreciate being appealed to as Dinesh's point person. At any time really, but especially with the way this week is going. But even as he glares, he considers. It's not like any of his approaches so far have been working, and he doesn't have much left to lose.

"Sure," he agrees, and shoves the rest of the pickle in his mouth. Jared beams at him. Sucker. 

"Dinesh," he says, walking back into the living room. "You want to tell the team why you're being such a little bitch?"

Richard jumps, and he's sure Jared's face behind him isn't any happier, but it's not their reactions he was aiming for.  Dinesh raises his head from his computer screen, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. "Fuck. You," he says, very clearly, and then goes back to his laptop. 

And maybe it's the instant dismissal, or the fact that those two words are the most Dinesh has said to him in four days, or maybe it's that the pickle is the only food Gilfoyle's eaten in eighteen hours, but he doesn't stop to SWOT this one out. He just goes straight for the nuclear option. 

"Dinesh wants my hot body," he explains, staring him down with arms crossed. Dinesh's head comes up again in slow horror. "But he's too repressed to come out and say it, even when I made him an offer. And he can't read my code without getting a hard-on. So now he's taking it out on all of us by piling us in an avalanche of his own shit code."

If he feels bad about anything, it's that Dinesh has actually been really on his game the past few days. His code has been pretty great.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Richard and Jared both with mouths agape. It distracts him just long enough that Dinesh manages to get a fistful of his hair before Gilfoyle even notices he's lunged forward out of his seat.  

By the time Jared manages to drag them apart, Gilfoyle's glasses are broken and his ear hurts, and Dinesh has a red mark across his face where Gilfoyle had slapped him. 

"What the hell?" Richard is moaning. "What the hell, you guys? I knew you had a thing, but this is -- this is -- what the hell?"

"I don't disagree," Gilfoyle says evenly, scowling at his broken glasses. It's just the one lens, but that's almost worse than both, unless he wants to squint like a pirate. 

"I know we don't have a formal employee handbook, but this is a blatant example of sexual misconduct in the workplace," Jared points out. 

"Shut up, Jared," Dinesh snaps at the same time as Gilfoyle, and they lock eyes in unwilling camaraderie. 

"Look," Richard says, pressing fingers to his temples, as if he's the one having the rough day. "Why don't you both go work in your rooms for the rest of today?" 

"What are you, my mother?" Dinesh demands. "We're not toddlers." 

"Are you sure?" Richard snipes back, and Gilfoyle isn't sure whose head he wants to tear off first, but he knows it's coming. 

"Richard?" Jared, of course. "If I may, I suggest they try to work it out. Direct conversation is much healthier than avoidance in these situations." 

"Fine. Fine," he snaps. "But get out of the workspace. Try not to drown each other in the pool or anything." 

Jared approves of this course of action, and no one asks Dinesh or Gilfoyle what they think they should do. Gilfoyle could argue or walk out of a different door. But after a few minutes' thought, he concludes that he's not actually willing to leave the hacker hostel forever just yet, so leaving now would only be postponing the inevitable. 

They take their usual seats in the chaise lounges on the far side of the pool. 

"I can't believe you outed me at work," Dinesh says bitterly, which at least breaks the silent stalemate that had held during the walk outside. 

"You assaulted me," Gilfoyle points out. 

"Because you outed me!" 

"That's not why you did it." 

"Okay, then why did I do it?" Dinesh demands. "Explain it to me. I want to hear you say this." 

Gilfoyle rolls his eyes at the pavement but he spits it out, because they can't both play the idiot in this scenario. "You feel like you put yourself out on a limb in drunkenly declaring your lust for me, and you seem to think I didn't do worse in kissing you stone cold sober. You want me to offer vulnerability in verbal form as well, and when I didn't, you got butt hurt over it. Well suck it, Dinesh. This is as vulnerable as I get." 

Dinesh is silent for a moment, and Gilfoyle finally looks up at him. "What the fuck?" Dinesh explodes. "You let me go through four days thinking you didn't even want me!"

"I kissed you and told you I wasn't kidding," Gilfoyle objects, and wonders again how he can possibly be attracted to this person. "What more did you want?"

Dinesh glares at him. 

"I'm serious," Gilfoyle says, and only then realizes he is. He's used to not being understood, takes a certain pride in it more times than not, but right now, the break in communication between him and the one person who seemed to be on his wavelength is making him edgy and unsettled in a way he's not accustomed to at all. "What do you want?"

Dinesh, too, seems to realize the weight of the question. His eyes dart back and forth, thinking quickly, and he raises his chin. "I want you to be nicer to me." 

"Two-way street," Gilfoyle says, unimpressed, and feeling strangely disappointed in both of them. 

"Would you?" he asks, and Gilfoyle raises his eyebrows, questioning. "Be nicer to me if I were nicer to you?"

"Unilateral disarmament," he muses grudgingly. "Worth a try." 

Dinesh hangs his head, dropping it between his knees, and letting out a pained sounding breath. "This week sucked," he admits. "What were we even doing?"

"Apparently making ourselves miserable." He slides himself onto his back on the chaise, staring up at the sky. "It's less fun than usual."

"Do we just... undo the last week?" Dinesh sounds uncertain. "Can we?"

"The whole week?" Gilfoyle asks. He's still looking studiously at the clouds, letting Dinesh make the call. 

"What do you want?"

Gilfoyle closes his eyes. Bastard. "I wanted you to come out here and kiss me back the first time," he admits, and opens his eyes to the same clouds as before. The one that looks like a doughnut is maybe a little more frayed on one side. The chaise lounge dips toward his feet, and Dinesh's head comes into view. His hand skates almost shyly over the leg of Gilfoyle's jeans, where his knee is bent. Gilfoyle sits up, pushing himself onto his elbows and leaving his legs twisted between them. Dinesh just sits and looks at him for another minute, thumb scratching idly over the seam of Gilfoyle's jeans. 

Less antagonism and more physical contact. Yeah, Gilfoyle can live with this development. He stretches his leg out, until Dinesh is sitting very loosely in his lap, Gilfoyle's hands resting between them, and their faces are on a level. 

Dinesh keeps looking between Gilfoyle's face, and his hand on Gilfoyle's knee, as if he's still processing his own actions. "Do you think it'll freak Richard out more if we keep arguing in the living room, or if we just make out in the kitchen a lot?"

"I don't see why we have to choose," Gilfoyle says, relieved when it comes out in his usual flat tone. Dinesh smiles suddenly, shaking his head. 

"I'm going to kiss you," Dinesh says seriously when he looks up again, and Gilfoyle forces himself to hold very still, to keep breathing normally. They've been here before, after all.  

"Okay." 

But he reaches up when Dinesh leans over, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down into a kiss that's anything but disinterested. 

"I knew you liked me," Dinesh murmurs after a while. 

It's on the tip of Gilfoyle's tongue to say that he knew first, but instead he just tilts Dinesh's head until he can busy his mouth once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any errors guys. This is being posted at the tail-end of a vacation in an airport. Let me know if anything looks wonky. Otherwise, thanks for tagging along for this ride, and extra special thanks to everyone who cheered me on along the way!


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